Thursday, November 06, 2008

Pet's...

Years ago, my grandmother had a Poodle, which was a really fucking neurotic dog! She and my grandfather were both shit scared of the bugger. It's name was Pepe, suppose that's enough reason for any dog to be neurotic, but what the hey.

Anyhow, this dog, kind of ruled the roost, anything on the floor was the dogs, unless you could entice the bugger into another room you dare not pick anything up.

As they lived on the Fylde coast, we as kids would go for one week of the summer holidays, giving mum and dad a break, as well as saving them monies on family hols. For some reason all six of us went one year, mum, dad, two lads and two girls.

We had all at some point managed to escape being bitten by Pepe, but from day one the mutt resented our presence in his domain. I dropped a 10 pence piece bent to pick it up and the dog had my ring finger in its sharp teeth. (I still have the scars 30+ years later)

Two days later it had my little brother's arm when he bent to pick up a tennis ball, no punishment was given to the dog other than shouting at it, and kids being kids, we hated the fucking dog with a vengeance, although I stress we did not wind the mutt up in anyway at all. We, as kids do tended to stay clear of the bugger.

The final straw came as my youngest sister, was about 9 months old, unable to walk, sat in one of those baby strollers. We were eating butties in the dining room, (grandma was posh she had a proper dining room) whilst Leeanne, the youngest member of the family was in her stroller, the ones with the little table on the front.

The dog for no reason that we can work out, decided to bite Leeanne, narrowly missing her eye and causing a severe cut to her eyebrow, and as I assume most people know, babies bleed a lot so there were copious amount of claret everywhere.

This was the final straw for my dad, who bundled all the kids into the car with my mother, went back into the bungalow and beat the shit out of the dog, to our immense pleasure we could hear the yelps from the car.

From then on no-one ever had a problem with the dog biting anyone again. My grandad on his return was told the tale and merely commented thank god, its about time that little bugger had a good hiding. When my dad asked what he did if the dog bit him, my grandad replied give the bugger half a crown to let go!

In hindsight I can see the fault lay with my grandparents over the dogs behaviour, but had it been me, the fucker would have been killed after the first time!

My first fall out with my parents in law was caused by a cat, the cat is called Toby, and again rules the roost. I had been stroking the cat, which he seemed OK with, eyes closed, purring etc, when without warning he lashed out cutting my finger with his claws. Then the little bugger legged it, the PiL's then said that he was fond of bloodsports and that they were always careful and wary of his moods! I said then, well the bugger had better be wary of me then, as the next time he draws blood from me, he will have either a headache from the punch to the head or arse ache from the boot to his arse! The mood in the room dropped by 10 degrees, but I did not apologise.

If people accept this behaviour from their pets, then that helps them to accept bad behaviour from other humans. Surely it isn't to much for a pet to be taught from day one not to bite or scratch?